Lustrate: interim - i, the breeze

standing, gazing, blinking away the sun and salt. i feel the cool waves rush across my arches dampening the silt between my toes then slide back out into the blue-green expanse. back again it rushes. this time to my ankles. i kneel, but there is no prayer that comes. i wish to sink, but the waves rush out as if they know. flat on my back now i feel whole.waves rush to my shoulders and then to my ears. i listen for their whispers,hopeful... but they won't console me. rush and slide again and again until i must hold my breath against the creeping advance. yet i lay there soaking in the sand; soaking in self awareness and soaking in the truth that neither this break nor the entire great wet that hurls it at this shore will ever be enough to wash away the things that have come to be. lady Macbeth got off easy. i fear i will not.